


collaboration horizontale

by shuttermutt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 2x12, Gen, always a girl!Stiles, emotional and physical violence, gerard is fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuttermutt/pseuds/shuttermutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Erica knows who’s being thrown down the stairs as soon as the door to the basement is opened. She smells the scent of </i>human<i> and </i>girl<i> and there’s really only one person who still smells like a human that it could be.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	collaboration horizontale

**Author's Note:**

> for some reason, i have an obsession with making stiles a girl? idk. this is a more in-depth look at the torture scene and what could have happened had stiles been a girl. also, i like erica a lot for being fragile and fucked up and i wanted to write about her reaction to watching stiles get hurt. could be seen as pre-erica/stiles, if you want.

Erica knows who’s being thrown down the stairs as soon as the door to the basement is opened. She and Boyd have been hanging from the rafters for hours, now, feeling the pain of the electricity slowly killing them, keeping them from transforming and escaping. She thinks it would be a mercy to die, at this point. But she smells the scent of _human_ and _girl_ and there’s really only one person who still smells like a human that it could be. 

She can see Stiles sprawled on the floor with the feeble amount of moonlight that’s managed to trickle in past the boarded up window. Erica has a sudden jolt of dread deep in her stomach and she thinks, desperately, _no_ and _not her_. She makes a bitten off noise and it makes the stench of Stiles’ fear spike enough to flood her nose and make her feel like she might vomit.

Stiles is up like a shot, stumbling to get to the lights. When she turns them on, her fear doesn’t go away, but it does get a tinge of relief. She’s _relieved_ to see them, even though the pack has gone out of its way to make things harder for Stiles and Scott. Stiles protected them at the rave and she’s got that look on her face now, like she’s going to do her damndest to fix this.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she says, creeping up to Erica, shooting glances to the stairs. “I’ve got this.”

Erica shakes her head, grunts, but Stiles doesn’t understand, doesn’t _get_ it. She can’t smell the electricity winding its way through the wires and latching its claws into their bodies. Stiles touches the wires at Erica’s wrists and the shock jumps through her fingers, making her cry out and jerk her hand away. The lights dim.

“They were trying to warn you, it’s electrified,” Gerard says. Erica hadn’t even heard him come down the stairs, she’d been so focused on Stiles. That’s bad. Gerard is not someone she should ever lose sight of. He’s already—

Erica doesn’t let herself think about what he’s already done. There are holes in Boyd’s side that are still bleeding sluggishly, won’t _heal_ , from what Gerard has done.

“What’re you doing with them?” Stiles asks. She stands in front of them like she can actually protect them from this terrifying, insane man who can do whatever he wants to them. She sounds brave, but Erica can hear the way her heart is beating twice as hard, how the sour scent of sweat has tripled.

Gerard sighs. “At the moment, just keeping them comfortable. There’s no point in torturing them. They won’t give Derek up. The instinct to protect their Alpha’s too strong.”

Stiles says something about Scott being able to find her, that Scott knows her scent and would be able to track her no matter what, but her heart is racing like she doesn’t believe it. Like she doesn’t think Scott would think to look for her. 

“You have a talent for creating a vivid picture, Ms Stilinski. Let me paint one of my own.” Gerard starts to move towards Stiles. He’s smiling, the same way he smiled when he pressed a hot knife into Erica’s belly when he asked her where Derek was. It’s a smile that Erica doesn’t think she’ll ever forget. Stiles moves back with each step Gerard takes until she can’t move anymore or she’ll hit Erica and Boyd. “Scott McCall finds his best friend bloodied and beaten to a pulp. How does that sound, now?”

“I think I’d prefer more of a still life or a landscape, y’know,” Stiles says, trying to go for cheeky, but her voice is low and fearful. Gerard looks unimpressed. There’s a tic in his cheek that shows how much he’s holding back and Erica knows Stiles can see it, can tell what it means. She isn’t smart about it, though. She makes a stupid remark and Erica knows before Gerard moves what he’s going to do.

He hits her, strikes her with the back of his hand so hard she goes sprawling across the floor. Erica flinches, looks away and closes her eyes because she doesn’t want to see this anymore. She knows Boyd is looking away as well, that he can’t watch what Gerard is going to do.

Gerard doesn’t stop, though. He keeps hitting her again and again, until her lip is split and the skin over her left cheekbone is wide open and bleeding. Erica can smell her blood, but she doesn’t watch as Gerard moves on to kicking her, in the soft parts of her stomach and back. Stiles curls up, puts her arms around her head to protect herself, but Gerard is like a wild animal. He’s more of a beast than Erica could ever be.

Erica opens her eyes and watches when she hears the sound of a knife being taken out of its sheath. It’s one thing, for him to do it to Boyd or her—they’ll heal, eventually. But Stiles is soft and so human and she can’t take what they can. She struggles against her bonds, cries out even though it’s muffled. Gerard doesn’t take any notice of her.

“Did you know,” he says, leaning over Stiles’ prone body and wrenching her arms away. He grabs a chunk of her hair in one hand and holds the knife to it and Stiles stills. “In the dark ages, with the Visigoths, and during the middle ages in Europe, women were punished for fraternizing with the enemy by having their heads shaved. It was a public mark of shame and retribution. It was supposed to humiliate the woman for her misdeeds. And you, Ms Stilinski, have been fraternizing with the enemy. Defending rabid animals, getting in our way whenever you can. I think you should wear that shame with you.” He says all this in his calm, even voice while he saws away at Stiles’ hair. He pulls and tugs with each swipe of his knife and Stiles makes choked, pained noises, but doesn’t move. The knife is too close to her throat for her to try anything.

Erica watches in horrified silence as Gerard finishes hacking at Stiles’ hair. He leaves it in uneven hunks, some pieces still to her chin while others are down near the root. Satisfied, he slides his knife back into its holster on his leg and brushes his hands together to get any remaining hair off.

Gerard reaches down and picks her up by her blood-soaked jersey and whispers, “We’ll see what Scott does now.” He lets her drop and Erica winces at the thud that resounds when Stiles’ head meets the concrete floor. Gerard walks over to the stairs but turns back and says, “You have fifteen minutes to get yourself up and out of here before I decide to keep you for longer. Try to let them go and you will regret it.” Then he’s up and out of the basement.

Stiles stays on the floor, unmoving for what feels like ages, to Erica. She’s never seen the other girl so _still_ and it’s unnerving. She wants to say something, tell her to get _up_ , but the tape against her mouth keeps her muffled. 

Finally, _finally_ , Stiles gets up. When she moves over to Erica and Boyd, she’s limping, holding onto one of her arms in a way that tells them there’s something very wrong with it. Her hair is a disaster and her face is a ruin of blood and snot and tears. She looks them both in the eye, though.

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice cracked. Erica thinks she sees a welt, where Gerard’s boot might have caught Stiles in the throat. “I have to get to my dad. But I’ll send someone. I promise.”

Erica wants to say something, wants to say, _we’ll live_ or _don’t let them get Derek_ or _please be okay, oh God_ , but she can’t say anything. She nods, when Stiles looks at her with her wide, haunted eyes. Nods and knows she’s crying, can’t help it; that her makeup is all down her face, but what does it even matter, now?

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says again. She heads for the stairs, and she’s slower than she should be, far too still and contained to be right.

Erica hadn’t wanted to completely destroy the Argent family until right this second.

-

In the end, Erica isn’t quite sure what happens. Chris helps her and Boyd escape, and then they’re running, to Hale house or just through the forest to get _out_ and then they’re surrounded. There’re five of them, and all of them make her want to bare her throat and belly. She doesn’t, because she _has_ an Alpha, already, and because Boyd takes her hand and keeps her steady.

They let her and Boyd go, though, which is what’s important. They let them go, and so Erica and Boyd figure their best bet is going back to Derek. Nothing is safe, nothing is what they thought it would be, and Derek is their best option. Derek has Isaac and Scott and he’s their _pack_ , their _Alpha_. They need him.

Peter smells like something that makes Erica want to be sick. He smells like the sweet scent of rot and she can taste old blood in the back of her throat. He’s unsettling, with his smiles and his prying eyes and his slow speech. Derek largely ignores him, though, so Erica does as well.

She’s surprised when Stiles shows up during the next pack meeting.

Stiles has gotten her hair cut more evenly, but it’s still patchy in some spots, and shorter than it ever was, before. There are still bruises fading on her cheek and eye and she’s wrapped in more layers than ever. She holds herself carefully and refuses to go near Peter for any reason and when Scott reaches out to touch her shoulder, she flinches back from him. She’s quiet and subdued and it’s not _right_. If Erica ever finds Gerard again, she’s going to pull his intestines out inch by inch through his throat.

Jackson and Lydia are curled around each other, and while Lydia tries to engage Stiles in conversation a few times, she gives up after all she gets is silence. Jackson has eyes for no one else. Scott looks a little lost and like he doesn’t know what to do, and Derek gets a pinched look on his face every time he looks at Stiles. Peter is a silent, disturbing presence in the room. Isaac takes one look at Stiles and sits down next to her, giving her a foot of space on the couch. Erica and Boyd run interference around her, so no one can disturb her unless she wants to be disturbed. 

After the meeting is over and the rest of the pack are talking with Derek and Peter, Erica watches Stiles slip away. She follows after her, making an effort not to be silent, so Stiles knows she’s there.

Stiles waits by her Jeep for Erica to catch up. “What,” she says, voice flat. She’s got her sleeves pulled down around her fingers and she keeps fidgeting with the ends. 

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Erica knows that Stiles probably doesn’t believe her—Erica and Boyd had healed from their wounds within minutes after getting free. Stiles will still have them for weeks, and her hair won’t grow out for months. She’s left with constant reminders while Erica can pretend nothing ever happened. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do anything to stop it,” she says after a few beats of silence.

The silence stretches on for so long that Erica can practically feel it in the air, tense and awkward and sour tasting. Finally, Stiles shrugs.

“There was nothing anyone could do. It was part of his plan. He wanted everyone helpless. That’s what he got.” She moves to get into the Jeep.

Erica grabs her hand but lets go quickly when Stiles yanks it back. “He didn’t get what he wanted. He lost.” She says it so fiercely that Stiles actually takes a step back, eyes wide. “He didn’t win,” she says, softer.

Stiles nods, sharp and jerky. Her eyes are wide and a little damp, but Erica doesn’t think she’s going to cry. She doesn’t think Stiles would let her see that, not again. “Yeah,” she says, so soft that Erica wouldn’t be able to hear he if she wasn’t a werewolf. “He didn’t win.”

She gets into her jeep and drives off and Erica stands there and watches until she can’t see the blue car anymore. Then, she heads back into the station and reaches out to grab onto Isaac and Boyd’s hands. They settle down on the couch together and Erica feels safe, pressed between them. She thinks that maybe Stiles could feel safe between them, some day, too.


End file.
